


Noted

by menbung



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, I'm Sorry This Is So Super Indulgent, Kissing, Like This is Super Sweet, M/M, Making Out, Museum Meet Cute, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, One Day I'll Get Good at Tagging, Stuff of My Dreams, When Asstastic Days At Work Turn Out Great, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menbung/pseuds/menbung
Summary: In which shit coffee and stuffed polar bears bring Do Kyungsoo and Park Chanyeol together.





	Noted

Kyungsoo’s feet hurt like hell. He’d tried everything, from squishy gel insoles to ugly orthopedic shoes, even prayer. Nothing alleviated the pain from hours of walking the natural history museum’s unforgiving concrete floors monitoring hordes of people, mostly screaming schoolchildren and harried teachers. 

Back and forth. Forth and back. Faking smiles. Feigning concern. Repeating himself. _Please don’t touch. Pictures are allowed but please no flash. Restrooms are down the hall and to your left._ Where the giant freaking sign says ‘restroom’, idiot, he wanted to add but somehow miraculously refrained, making his smile bigger each time he was tempted so that by the end of every shift his cheeks ached from the effort.

He had nearly quit three times. Maybe he was trapped inside some kind of twisted psychological experiment. Perhaps he was dead and this was actually hell. Karmic retribution for every sin he’d committed the past twenty years, though he could only recall one thing he’d done that might be worth eternal damnation. Besides, Satan showing up and striking a deal for his soul might actually make things interesting, especially if there was music involved. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that kind of luck.

Nope, this was simply the first listing that sounded better than weighing himself down with heavy rocks and wading into the Han River when he searched his college’s part time job board  two months ago after a particularly dreary January weekend most notable for Baekhyun’s intermittent screeching about carrying Kyungsoo’s “freeloading ass” and repeatedly slamming every door in their apartment.

Baekhyun screamed lots of other stuff that weekend too, mostly likely about adulting, that Kyungsoo can’t quite recall. He’d been deep into his fourth (fifth?) soju when Baekhyun got home from his Friday night study group. He may or may not have broken the coffee table doing Red Velvet choreo. Come to think of it, that’s probably why the yelling started in the first place. But Kyungsoo  definitely  remembered the fog not clearing until Baekhyun jumped on his bed Monday morning, damn near puncturing Kyungsoo’s lungs with his knobby knees, and shouted, “Find a fucking job!”

Getting hired at the natural history museum was pretty easy . He was breathing, fit the provided uniform, and passed the background check. But he quickly noticed he didn’t have much in common with the other gallery attendants. Most of them were retirees who worked to stay busy, Kyungsoo supposed, men his grandfather’s age who cracked dirty jokes in the break room, knew every inch of the museum like they built the place, and complained bitterly about their younger, know-nothing supervisors. 

Besides teasing him about his burgundy hair and asking if he had a girlfriend yet, they hardly spoke to him. Kyungsoo always stayed respectful. He had home training, after all. Still, he couldn’t help occasionally wishing the reconstructed tyrannosaurus in the main lobby would fall on their spotted, balding heads. Yet every time he did, he felt even worse about his situation. Those old farts had lived a lifetime three times his, had probably accomplished more than he’d ever dreamed, and were still going strong.  What did he have to show for himself? Half a college degree, half a job, and an entire bossy roommate with a Napoleon complex breathing down his neck. 

Suddenly, Kyungsoo was overwhelmed with the realization that his feet didn’t hurt nearly as much as his pride.

 

+++   
  


Kyungsoo yawned as the ancient microwave heated his instant ramen. He hated the stuff but in the battle between sleeping an extra hour and making real food for breakfast, sleep won out. It almost always did. It would be six hours before he’d have a chance to eat again, so it was better than nothing. 

As he sprinkled in the powdered crap that made the ramen taste chickenish, he felt a rush of cold air across the back of his freshly-shaved head. He looked to his left, seeing an obnoxious amount of puffy, neon blue fabric, then up to a tuft of spiky, black hair peeking above the thick, grey scarf coiled around this person’s head like a wool snake. 

Kyungsoo quickly slurped noodles, watching as layers peeled away. Soon he could see thick, black plastic glasses, held up by ears, bright red from the cold, that stuck out so far on this (cute!) guy’s head, he resembled the ancient jugs on the museum’s second floor. _He needs earmuffs,_ Kyungsoo thought, then immediately wondered why the hell he cared.

When he pulled off his gloves and reached for a paper coffee cup, Kyungsoo blurted, “It’s shit.” 

“I’m sorry?” For some reason, Kyungsoo wasn’t expecting his voice to be so deep. It was a nice surprise. 

“Get it from the machine instead.” Cute guy looked at the full, steaming coffee pot and then back at Kyungsoo like he was figuring a puzzle. “Trust me,” Kyungsoo said, tossing his empty ramen container in the trash, “unless you like hugging toilets.” Cute guy’s smile was wide and so freaking joyous it was almost disarming, as he laughed--barked, really-- thanked Kyungsoo for the heads-up, and joined the queue at the vending machine. 

For the first time ever, Kyungsoo started his shift in a good mood. 

 

+++

 

_Two-hundred sixty-five._

That was the number of steps around the entire gallery, from the trilobites to the mammals. Kyungsoo’s walked this path so often he can do it with his eyes closed, backwards, sideways, skipping and hopping. He’d accomplished this several times, only getting busted once for the skipping. The guards monitoring security cameras were obviously shit at their jobs yet they made more money than him. Most everybody in the museum did. If he wasn’t actually at the bottom of the ladder, he was positive there wasn’t far to fall. But he made just enough to keep Baekhyun quiet--and that was paramount because Jesus, that boy never shut up--and the cabinets stocked with soju and shitty ramen. 

Twenty steps to his favorite part, the panorama of stuffed polar bears. Skip, skip, skip. Kyungsoo noticed one of the curators huffing up the stairs near the end of the gallery. He looked about in his forties, with a pointy nose, round belly and a slight waddle to his walk like a penguin..

Ten more steps. Hop. Hop. Hop. Kyungsoo didn’t know the curator’s name but he seemed nice. He always smiled at everyone, even at the gallery attendants, whom nobody noticed unless they had some stupid request or needed someone to blame when things went wrong. 

Two more steps. Backwards now, with a bonus moonwalk for the nice penguin’s benefit. Kyungsoo added a final spin, expecting to come face-to-face-with a shaggy, white _ursus maritimus_.  Instead, he found his face mashed into something fuzzy and grey---a sweater, maybe?--yes, he determined after narrowing his wide eyes to focus and taking a step back. Definitely an impossibly soft sweater that he wanted to touch very, very badly, with a solid chest beneath it that also called out to his fingers, and where the  hell  had that thought come from? 

“Oh, man, I’m sorry...” Kyungsoo started, as the guy he’d told the break room coffee was shit,  _ the cute one _ , smiled like a puppy whose belly just got rubbed instead of someone who’d damn near been knocked over. Before Kyungsoo could mumble out more apologies the curator fast-waddled over, cheeks flushed, looking concerned. 

“Chanyeol, are you okay? That looked like quite the collision!” Nice Penguin examined him as if he were broken. Kyungsoo stared too, knowing that might be considered rude, but he didn’t really care. 

_ Chanyeol. _ The name sounded great in his head. Better than great. actually. Kyungsoo wanted to feel it tumble out of his mouth. Hear it in the air like music. Softly, loudly, and all the tones in between. When he wondered if Chanyeol would say his name sweetly or if he might growl it, stutter out the syllables in a pained groan, Kyungsoo knew  _ exactly _ what fueled those thoughts, and they usually meant trouble. 

It didn’t help that Chanyeol was now on his knees barely an arm’s length away, his tall body folded in half as he gathered the debris from their crash. His slender fingers carefully arranged the scattered papers until they lined up perfectly in the folder, the gallery lights reflecting off the thin, silver bracelet surrounding his left wrist. The jewelry was elegant yet simple, seemingly both at odds with and perfectly suited to its owner. It looked special, like a gift. From a girlfriend, maybe? Boyfriend? When Chanyeol glanced up at Kyungsoo, held his gaze and smiled, practically radiating light and happiness, Kyungsoo sincerely hoped the latter was possible. 

Nice Penguin, satisfied Kyungsoo hadn’t damaged Chanyeol, sighed and checked his watch. “Well, it looks like you’ll survive. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”    


Chanyeol jumped to his feet and bowed a full ninety degrees as the curator departed. Kyungsoo did the same, regretting not doing so immediately upon noticing the elder man earlier but his attention had obviously been elsewhere and remembering the specifics of elsewhere made his face burn. Kyungsoo was positive Chanyeol’s smirk as they brought themselves to full height was because Chanyeol could read minds.

Fully shamed, Kyungsoo decided escaping back to his rounds was the only option.

“Wait.” Chanyeol’s deep voice stopped him cold. Kyungsoo turned around. Dammit, Chanyeol was  _ still  _ smiling. How in the hell did it come so easily? Normally, Kyungsoo wouldn’t trust someone like this. He’d think they were up to no good or mentally unstable. But Chanyeol’s entire demeanor was earnestly carefree and undeniably attractive and that stupid fucking grin was the worst part. Kyungsoo hated that he was already plotting ways to see more of it.

“Thanks,” Chanyeol continued, “for earlier I mean. Getting sick on my first day would’ve sucked.” Kyungsoo nodded, gestured like it was no big deal. “So I have to make notes about labels on, uh,” he paused, checking a page inside the folder, “mammals. I’m in the right place, obviously.” 

Chanyeol mimicked the ginormous polar bear’s attack pose, snarled, and cracked up. Kyungsoo’s laughing, more at the fact that Chanyeol was so thoroughly amusing himself, made Chanyeol laugh even harder. He doubled over, clapped Kyungsoo on the shoulder--once, twice--squeezing as he caught his breath, not even noticing his touch caused Kyungsoo to stop breathing altogether.

Well, maybe not completely stop. But the breaths were definitely shorter, like he couldn’t quite get enough air, his heart beating so hard, his pulse echoed in his ears, and his mind was swimming. Was this a panic attack? He heard Baekhyun’s psychology study group discussing them once, each person trying to sound more intelligent than the next, Baekhyun’s attempts the most obnoxious of them all. Kyungsoo watched movies in his room that night, trying to tune them out, but hadn’t somebody said something about chest pain? Dammit. Why didn’t he pay closer attention? He could be dying.

“....okay?” Kyungsoo pushed past the brain fog and impending death in time to catch the last word of Chanyeol’s sentence, see his lovely face contorted in concern. If these were his final moments on Earth, Kyungsoo decided, he didn’t mind this being his departing memory. 

“Excuse--?” Kyungsoo cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” he repeated, this time not sounding like a kid whose balls hadn’t dropped. 

“I asked if you were feeling okay. Your face went really pale for a minute. I mean, you’re already pale. You went more, like, grayish, actually,” Chanyeol said. 

“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo said, grumpier than he intended, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. All Chanyeol did was touch his shoulder, in the non-sexiest way ever, and Kyungsoo completely fell apart.  _ Why are you like this?  _ Kyungsoo wondered, berating himself, as if he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he began second-guessing absolutely everything.

Chanyeol pushed his glasses up with his index finger and crossed his arms. He didn’t believe Kyungsoo for a second but somehow instinctively knew any push should be gentle. “Hey, if you need to sit down for a few minutes, it’s okay. You’re probably not supposed to, right? I won’t tell anyone.”

Kyungsoo suppressed the urge to smile. Having someone care about him felt nice, even when he acted like an idiot.  _ Especially _ when he acted like an idiot. “Cameras,” he said, pointing toward the ceiling, “some you see. More you can’t. I’ll probably get in trouble for standing here so long.” 

“Tell them it’s my fault. I’ll say I forced you to help me. Here, I’ll write a note.” Chanyeol pulled a pen from his pocket. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s no good,” Kyungsoo said, hardly believing this kid was actually serious about this note business. Kyungsoo handed Chanyeol a pencil from his blazer pocket. “It’s so when, like, exhibits and stuff get marked, it’s easier to, uh…” 

No way was Kyungsoo finishing his well-rehearsed  _ pencils not pens _ speech. 

Not with said pencil wedged firmly in Chanyeol’s mouth. 

Not with the tip of Chanyeol’s tongue darting beneath the wood, wetting his lips.

Not with Chanyeol’s warm, huffed breaths hitting Kyungsoo’s neck as he slowly scanned Kyungsoo’s name tag, then his face, until their eyes met.

“Do Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol said after he slid the pencil from between his lips, his voice, impossibly, even deeper, “let’s see if I can keep you out of trouble.”

They way Chanyeol said it, trouble didn’t sound bad at all. It sounded like exactly what Kyungsoo needed. Trouble was once a friend of his. Kept him on the edge of his seat, made life exciting and wildly unpredictable. He missed the rush that came with every new day and night. _God_ , the nights. Those memories long ago morphed into kaleidoscopic swirls and frenzied sensations, ghostly remnants occasionally pinging the feel-good parts of his brain and surging through his body.

But that life, along with the risky, chemical enhancements that fueled it, is decidedly, purposely, far from Kyungsoo’s reach. It doesn’t seem quite fair; sure he’s alive, but what’s the point if the trade-off is a constant loop of solitary, soul-sucking monotony? 

For once, Kyungsoo wished for a stampede of the loudest, most obnoxious visitors possible. Anything to distract him from the noise in his head as he resumed his route around the floor, counting as usual, except now he tallied the number of steps until he passed Chanyeol on a bench near the giant tortoise, legs tucked beneath him, laboring over that stupid note. 

_ One hundred sixty-four. _

Each time Kyungsoo went by, Chanyeol’s head was down. He twirled the pencil between his fingers, tapped it against his cheek, seemingly deep in thought, his previous work task abandoned. This undoubtedly was the world’s most carefully crafted excuse ever. Chanyeol wrote and wrote, erased and wrote again.  _ Is he drawing?  _ Kyungsoo noticed Chanyeol’s wrist making tiny, circular motions. Probably making a diagram to illustrate Kyungsoo’s incompetence.

“Ya, will you come on! We’ve been here for  hours .” Kyungsoo’s ears pricked at the woman’s voice, well-worn with annoyance, echoing in the atrium below and the cajoling tones of an employee saying the museum was closing soon. A child’s ear-splitting shrieks---“Mommy, nooooo! Dinosaurs!”--faded into the distance, presumably as the little terror was dragged away. Kyungsoo checked his phone. Indeed, only ten minutes stood between him and...what, exactly? Dish duty, according to an all-caps text from Baekhyun. 

Thrilling.

Kyungsoo stole one more peek at Chanyeol and switched into shut-down mode. 

Inspected displays for damage. Closed comment books. Refilled pencil boxes. Checked bathrooms for stragglers. Gave the all-clear sign to the floor supervisors. Watched other galleries darken one by one. Returned to his post. Said, “Um, it’s closing, so, we should go...” to a room of taxidermied animals. 

Felt like a fucking idiot. 

His eyes lingered on the empty bench. Swept the deserted room. Had the entire day been one long fever dream? Maybe he was actually home in bed, sick as a dog, the hot, lanky guy in the soft sweater who dropped everything to help him simply the byproduct of an elevated temperature. And it ended without so much as a handshake. Shit, even his fantasies have gone tame. 

The gallery went dark. Kyungsoo sighed, skipped a bit in the shadows cast by the red EXIT sign and white emergency track lights embedded in the ceiling. He liked this place best when it was empty; quiet and full of possibility. Did things come to life like in the movies? Bitch about the dumbass humans staring at them all day? Curse them for these ridiculous poses? He leaned on the heavy, wooden door to the staff stairs until it opened, remembering Chanyeol’s polar bear impression. Wondering how he could see it again--

“I hoped you’d come this way.”

Kyungsoo took the stairs slowly, holding the rail, partly so he wouldn’t break his ass on the slick concrete, mostly because he didn’t want to take his eyes away. He was awake. Not sick. Not dreaming. Chanyeol was there. Right there. And not just there. 

_ Waiting _ . For him. 

“Did you get lost?” Kyungsoo asked, just to make sure. 

Chanyeol’s nose scrunched briefly, adorably. “No. I have your note. Remember?” He took a step forward, holding out the meticulously folded paper. 

“My god,” Kyungsoo breathed, taking it. “Is this origami? How am I…?”

“Here,” Chanyeol said, unfolding the layers while Kyungsoo held it delicately. “Sorry. I did that a lot when I was growing up. It’s a habit. So are you gonna read it?” 

“What? Now?” 

“Yeah. So I’ll know if it’s okay.” 

God, this kid. Chanyeol leaned against the wall. Kyungsoo stood in the alcove beneath the stairwell and held the paper close to his face, irritated that oversleeping that morning meant forgetting breakfast  _ and  _ his glasses. 

“‘To whom it may concern,” Kyungsoo began, “I hope this message finds you well. My name is Park Chanyeol. I’m interning in the Entomology Department even though my major is Composition and I’m afraid of bugs.’” Kyungsoo stared at Chanyeol, who just nodded like  _ go on _ . “Today is my first day and had it not been for Do Kyungsoo, it would have been my last. He saved my life by warning me about the poisoned coffee. He also took very good care of me this afternoon in the gallery. He is a very hard worker. He would not rest, even when he appeared to be feeling ill. He follows his route very diligently. See diagram.’” 

Chanyeol pointed at the paper. Kyungsoo saw the egg-shaped rendering of the gallery, complete with dubious animal-ish objects and a crude, spiky-haired stick figure with a trail of fluffy clouds--dust, maybe?-- floating behind it, and nearly choked laughing. “You are truly unwell,” Kyungsoo said. 

“Please, keep reading,” Chanyeol said, arms crossed, straight-faced. 

“‘He seems to like the polar bears best. He laughed when I pretended to be one and he looks at them the longest. He moves like he hears music in his head. He probably could complain about a lot of things but--’” Chanyeol expression softened as Kyungsoo’s voice caught and he paused. “Uh, ‘he doesn’t. He watches me very carefully when he passes by and I’m sure visitors feel safe when he’s around. I hope he likes this note. I also hope that he likes me, even a little bit, because when he finishes reading it, I’m going to ask if--’”

_ Oh. _

“‘If I can kiss him,’” Chanyeol finishes.

Before Kyungsoo’s head completed its affirmative nod, Chanyeol closed the distance between them, settled his hands on Kyungsoo’s waist and landed an off-center kiss against the corner of Kyungsoo’s mouth. 

“Dammit,” Chanyeol said, laughing some. 

Kyungsoo smiled. Honestly, if it had ended there, with Chanyeol’s lips touching any part of his face, Kyungsoo would’ve been satisfied. But knowing it didn’t have to, that it wasn’t going to, caused a wave of emotion that surged Kyungsoo’s body into Chanyeol’s, his knee gently parting Chanyeol’s thighs with deliberate intention.

“Try it again,” Kyungsoo whispered, loving Chanyeol’s gasps and increasingly rapid breaths. “Please.” 

Kyungsoo backed against the wall, bringing Chanyeol with him, fists full of that magnificent sweater, downy fabric sliding between his fingers as he lifted it up, up, to the shirt beneath it, and that went up too, until he felt skin, blistering hot, and his nails scraped against it, jerked away when Chanyeol shucked off Kyungsoo’s blazer, licking the spot beneath Kyungsoo’s ear, sucking it until a bruise bloomed and he was hard against Kyungsoo and Kyungsoo groaned, “Park Chanyeol, if you don’t fucking kiss me, I’m gonna punch you in the dick.” 

And when he did, when he finally licked into Kyungsoo’s mouth, shifting them, pressing them closer together, pushing and pulling against each other, tears formed at the corners of Kyungsoo’s eyes at how fucking soft Chanyeol’s lips were, how goddamned good he tasted, how before they kissed Chanyeol looked at him like he was the thing he wanted most in the world, at feeling all of it, at not wanting to numb a single bit of it, at wanting more. 

“Better?” Chanyeol asked, panting, when they broke for air. 

Kyungsoo smiled and nodded, feeling a knot forming on his back and a scrape on his lip, but not minding, especially with Chanyeol beaming so proudly.  

“We should go before the night guards start roaming,” Kyungsoo said.

“That sounds scary.”

“They can be.” 

Chanyeol’s eyes widened as he handed Kyungsoo his blazer.  "Poison coffee and scary night guards. What have I gotten myself into?" 

Kyungsoo's laughs trail off as Chanyeol pulls himself together. "Oh, shit, sorry about your sweater."

"No worries. It's a small hole. I'll blame it on the moths."

Somewhat presentable and thoroughly groped, but now what? Kyungsoo had no clue what this part was like. Do they shake hands or kiss again or--

“I’ve gotta get the train. Wanna walk with me?” Chanyeol asked. 

_ Oh.  _ So that's how it works. Kyungsoo grins. 

Duly noted. 

 

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: This is my very first fic! [noraebangbang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noraebangbang/pseuds/noraebangbang%20) conned me into writing this for her many moons ago. :D
> 
> Find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/seokiesquared).


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